I was dead before I knew I was dying
And now the grief sets in, my thoughts come out of hiding
As the people pass by, nod heads, close their eyes
Wishing they’d have been, the one to die
In the grave of self seeking lullabies
That softly lure us down to lie
And I look up above me to the clouds in the sky
As I’m lowered down they will stay so high
Away from this sorrowed soul and burdened heart
That soaked up the sin through the talent and art
Of thinking and feeling that consumed my life
Not in purpose or action but silence and strife

Am I living in my grave?
Why do I lie here in my grave?

It’s the dirt on my feet, I can’t see underneath
I am sick with sorrow in my black stained sheath
Can I pity myself more with flowers beside me
Am I comfortable yet, this is the opposite of free
Can consciousness be regained, to sit up under this tree
Notice the leaves and the beauty, that were grey so it seemed
Recognize and sympathize with feeling this numb
No one knows what its like to walk and to hum
Except the strong who have chosen to press
To fight and to run against the opposing forces
And when they reach their peace, in joy and hope
They reached the sky, of which I have only wrote
A line or two, only a line or two
Its something I’ve seen so rarely seen
from the grave I’m in, unsettled yet comfortable in
Looking at the clouds, that float above my sin

Am I living in my grave?
Why do I lie here in my grave?

When I have been placed here willingly I’ve been shown even more
With the make up they put on me and stories that bore
I was dead before I knew I was dying
And now the grief sets in, my thoughts come out of hiding
As the people pass by, nod heads, close their eyes
Wishing they’d have been, the one to die
In the grave of self seeking lullabies
That softly lure us down to lie
And I look up above me to the clouds in the sky
As I’m lowered down they will stay so high
I want to reach that height, can I please try
If I only had tried, revive me so I can try


To stand up in my grave, and to smash the stone
To stand in power and make it known
That I live in the power and might from the throne
Of the God of heaven who removes the stones
Who leaves us restless in our peaceful remorse
As I press and I struggle not for the sky but the cross
And I will fight for my life, fight for a life
With beauty and peace, where my sorrows will cease
Not a casket for living, waiting for death on a lease
I’m alive through a grave that brings me to shame
But lifts me up by the power of Jesus’ name
Why else would he die, we were meant to have life
But will I live it in my grave?
Or live it through his grace?
Am I living in my grave?
Hold me in your embrace.
Soak me with your grace.

Expansion of the mind, go expand your soul
Its tension in the pores of the sentimental life, dragging strife, passive stride
Leading in the self by an inward stagnancies
Friction in the depths of the recording heard, rotten words, being stirred
Deciding. What’s my inspiration?
Where’s the condemnation for choosing satisfaction?
Do I aim at all? And when I do is the target lucid, are my purposes eluded
With contemplation inspiring inflammation of the whole, body mind soul
Control, the hope for every one for every situation to cope with the note-less birds in the
cemeteries
Sitting in the trees
Lets eradicate the trees
Allow it to be done
To those that stand tall budding each season
but loom over bare when the harvest comes
Lets allow the buds to bloom.

Mother earth, would you reverse your rotation for me?
Would you take the red from the sky and put the bricks back where they lay the day before last?
There's a moment in time I wish desperately to see,
Mother Earth at peace with herself, loved ones held in strong embrace, recent and past.

- For Haiti

Singed bodies piled high on an earth -size altar
where no one fully dies until its their time
but for now, look above, its a clear blue sky
but with a sigh there's one soul who dares to ask why
there isn't death even night or life or light
no white like the dove of hope as we cope against the storms.
So we wrote in different forms
the same folk tale of mass sales, strong gales, beached whales, religious nails, how justice fails.
Now these all sail into the atmosphere amongst our fears and disperse upon our ears
in different forms of what we wrote on the storms
so we could cope apart from hope
for life or light in death and night.
So I ask why above me there's a clear blue sky as we refuse to die
on this earth-size altar where there's bodies piled high
as an offering to whom?
we excavate and loom wondering if we'll pull through the crucifixion and the tomb
but we cannot accept this fate out of the womb.

Let me ask why we grieve at every death in our time?
Let me say that maybe we weren't meant to die on this altar.
Let me ask why I can't accept death and my time?
I will claim that death wasn't meant for me
and I know this altar wasn't made for me.